


Pegged

by chucksauce



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom!Lock, Bottom!Sherlock, M/M, Pegging, Sherlock is a Size Queen, Size Kink, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 21:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2084538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucksauce/pseuds/chucksauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a size queen. He can't help it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pegged

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Pegged](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2472728) by [ogawaryoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ogawaryoko/pseuds/ogawaryoko)



> Oh my god. I don't know where my brain comes up with this stuff, sometimes.
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely [a-cumberbatch-of-cookies](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tishy19/pseuds/a-cumberbatch-of-cookies) and [hollowforest](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hollowforest), without whom this story wouldn't be half as smutty as it is.

Sherlock is a size queen. He can’t help it.  
  
Most times, John’s gorgeous girth is enough. It’s enough to feel that fat glans as it pushes past his lips, slides slick and bitter across his tongue and crowds his mouth; it’s enough to burn sweet and sharp as John pushes in elsewhere, until Sherlock is seated on that lovely cock and biting his lip with joy, sure that he will be sore in the morning no matter how much lube they’ve used.  
  
Then there are other times. Times when he must employ more desperate measures.  
  
But John doesn’t mind. Beautiful, accommodating John who understands that it isn’t his lack, merely Sherlock’s need getting the better of him. And John can tell when these times come, but damn him he still makes Sherlock beg for it.  
  
“I--I need,” Sherlock says, chest and cheek and palms pressed to sheet, arse thrusting fitfully back against John’s hips. “Please--”  
  
“What’s that?” John asks, and his tone is light, teasing, even as Sherlock’s frustration pitches the poor lanky man’s voice up. “Speak up, love.”  
  
“F-fuck. I--” Sherlock breaks off, pressing his face into the sheets, willing his body to slow down long enough for him to speak. “Fucking--John. Get it. Please--”  
  
But his words are cut off, drawn into a keen as John picks up his pace, thrusting ruthlessly, and if Sherlock didn’t already know better, he’d be completely oblivious to the savage smile he knows John is wearing.  
  
“I can’t read minds. Say it.” Each syllable is punctuated with the push of John’s hips, which are angled just so, his cock brushing Sherlock’s prostate until Sherlock is wound tight and taut, a violin string on the verge of snapping.  
  
“The--goddamn--dildo--you--utter--arse--please--John--please.” Sherlock’s litany continues, curses and cries sung into those sheets, now moist with sweat and saliva until Sherlock snaps his head round to glare at John, and only then does John relent.  
  
“Since you’re so polite about it...” John withdraws in one ruthless pull, leaving Sherlock empty and gasping before leaning on his good knee, jerking open the nightstand drawer with one swift tug.  
  
From the corner of his clouded vision Sherlock watches as John retrieves the bottle of slick, and a tangle of black straps wrapped hastily around something large and purple.  
  
“Is this what you want?” John asks, curling his finger through one of the straps so that the toy dangles beside Sherlock’s face. “This little thing?”  
  
“Please,” Sherlock whispers, and despite the number of times they’ve played this song and dance, his blush is just as fierce as the first time. He revels in the humiliating burn, closing his eyes to savour it.  
  
John hums thoughtfully, returning to his position behind Sherlock. He swats the bared arse before him which makes Sherlock jerk and cut him a sharp look. John shifts about on the bed; the click of the lube bottle is loud in the silence, its only accompaniment the heaving of Sherlock’s lungs, stifled by those damned sheets.  
  
The toy in question is a large hollow strap-on, dark purple silicone and artfully veined. Its interior is soft and more pliant than its exterior. Sherlock waits with barely-contained patience as John drizzles a measure of lube into it before smearing more onto his cock. John slips it on, and it increases his girth by another half-inch all the way around, adds to his modest length another inch.  
  
“I always forget how tight this thing is,” John huffs, his voice still rough with desire. “Almost as tight as your arse.”  
  
“Hurry up,” Sherlock pleads. His fingers are knotted in the sheets now, his whole body impatient.  
  
John does up the straps: black nylon stripes him at the hips and thighs to hold the toy in place. Sherlock can’t help but lick his lips, and he knows John can see the hunger in his eyes.  
  
The corner of John’s mouth twitches in a smug grin, and he swats at Sherlock’s arse again. “Slow down, princess. You’ll get this cock, don’t worry.”  
  
“Bastard,” Sherlock mutters, but he knows John knows better.  
  
He says it again a few moments later when the cold shock of fresh lubricant dribbles down his cleft, his whole body jolting with it. Distantly he can hear John’s quiet chuckle. Hot fingers slide through the lube, catching it and spreading it over sweat-slick skin before it can drip onto the bed. Another eternal moment, and Sherlock feels the cool, impersonal press of silicon against his over-sensitised skin. For right now John measures its length along the line of Sherlock’s cleft, thrusting gently in a pantomime of frottage.  
  
The breath squeezed from Sherlock’s lungs leaves him dizzy, and he pivots to push harder against it, angling to catch the end right where he needs it most.  
  
“Please.” The word escapes him, voiceless.  
  
“You wanna fuck this? Come take it.” John instructs.  
  
Sherlock pushes up to squat on his knees, which John nudges wider and arranges himself so that the toy finally nudges the delicate flesh of Sherlock’s hole. As Sherlock settles his weight on John’s thighs the unyielding silicone parts him, spearing him torturously slow until John--and the toy--are fully sheathed.  
  
Sherlock can’t breathe. It’s finally enough, enough, too much, all at once.  
  
“So--full--I--can’t--”  
  
John wraps an arm around Sherlock’s middle, a strong golden hand clasping pale, glistening chest. Sherlock can feel John’s breath against his ear as he speaks.  
  
“Shh, I’ve got you, you can, Sherlock. You can, and you are. I’ve got you.”  
  
“Too-much--” Sherlock gasps even as John rolls his hips slowly. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes, his body drowning in arousal and the punishing sting of limits being tested. “Too good, John--It’s so much--!”  
  
“Christ, Sherlock,” John murmurs, a solid rumble against his ear. “Who’d have guessed that Sherlock Holmes would be such a dirty pillow-biter? Gagging for a cock so big I had to buy an enhancement?” Each word is accented with the slow, sweet drag of the toy, cruising sinfully along Sherlock’s prostate, so tight against it he could swear he felt the individual veins that decorate its surface. “Would anyone else give you this? Could anyone else?”  
  
“Only you,” Sherlock gasps, body clenched tight, the precipice of orgasm barrelling toward him at breakneck speeds despite their slow dance.  
  
“Say it.”  
  
“Only you, John only you,” Sherlock manages only barely, taking it up as a mantra as he  begins to move, fucking himself on John’s strap-on, toes and the balls of his feet digging fretfully into the mattress for purchase against the sheets. He clasps an iron-like grip around the back of John’s neck, pinning chest to shoulders, and uses that point as leverage.  
  
John stills beneath him, letting him take what he needs, and Sherlock is wordless in his thanks--his gratitude spilling out in a series of consonant-less noises that echo back at them from the still of the bedroom.  
  
“So--fuck--so close,” Sherlock keens, and that is when John leans forward, pushing Sherlock once more back onto hands and knees, never once losing his rhythm. He picks up pace, relentless.  
  
When Sherlock comes it’s like falling off a building, irreversible and so intense it makes his stomach flip in the best way possible, every muscle in his body locking down so hard his hips, his calves, his toes cramp, and Sherlock’s final cry is a drawn out thing of beauty: equal parts ecstasy and regret that he’s done so quickly.  
  
From a million miles away he feels John slip free, fumble with the straps. The toy, now removed, lands beside Sherlock’s elbow, and the only thing Sherlock is aware of (aside from the glorious way his body is still singing in the aftermath) is the sound of John’s hand as John works his own cock furiously. With a grunt John comes, and Sherlock can feel the resulting stripe hot and wet against the cheeks of his arse.  
  
When they collapse into a boneless heap a moment later, it’s the best Sherlock’s felt in probably a month.  
  
Minutes stretch as the afterglow fades, and Sherlock is glad for John’s weight grounding him to the mattress, distracting him from the soreness he’ll inevitably feel when all the endorphins recede from his system. He lets loose a pleased noise, half growl, half purr.  
  
“Feeling better, then?” John asks, voice soft so near his ear still.  
  
Sherlock takes his time answering, as the simple act of recalling the English language is a near-insurmountable task at present. “I... I am going to be incredibly sore in the morning.”  
  
John chuckles before pushing up to begin cleaning them off. “You asked for it.”  
  
“I did. Thank you.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

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> 
> I really enjoy making friends with strangers on the internet. Come by and say hi!
> 
>   * [**My Fandom Tumblr**](http://chucksauce.tumblr.com) for all manner of crying about fictional characters and laughing at shitposts
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>   * **[Under-London](http://under-london.com/)** , the original serialized novel I'm working on for cheap-as-free!
>   * **[My Twitter](http://twitter.com/chucksauce221)** , where I basically live when I'm not writing...
> 



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